Sam was trudging across campus, with his backpack full of books slung over one shoulder. His eyes were focused on the ground, a clear sign that he didn't want to be bothered. His jaw was clenched and his teeth grinding against each other on occasion, a bad habit he'd developed since coming to Stanford. He'd been there 6 months and he had yet to figure out the spoiled rich kids he spent most of his day surrounded by.
Every day he fought with himself. Every day he questioned his decision to come. Every day he asked himself if this was worth being separated from Dean for.
Every day his conviction that he'd made the right decision crumbled a little more.
Reaching his dorm, Sam drops his bag down on his bed and spotting a note from his roommate with his name on it picks it up.
Sambo,
Some hospital chick called. Said you needed to call back. Something about your brother.
555 213-8970
Sam forgot about exams and not fitting in and doubts about everything except the big brother me missed like he would a severed limb. Picking up the phone he dialed the number, his hand clenched around the receiver, knuckles turning white.
When the voice on the other end answered, Sam gave the only info he had. He waited impatiently, his teeth grinding hard enough his jaw was beginning to ache. But when the voice said, "I'm sorry to inform you Mr. Winchester…" He stopped listening.
Dropping to the floor, Sam drew his legs beneath him, eyes clenched tightly with an arm wrapped around his stomach. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Dean was supposed to have been ok. Dean was the strong one. Dean was the one that could stand on his own. Dean wasn't supposed to be the first one to die.
It wasn't until he heard the word suicide that his attention was pulled back to the voice. "Wait, back up, you're saying my brother killed himself?"
Sam didn't even bother to keep the disbelief out of his voice. His big brother, his hero, the man who'd practically raised him and taught him every important thing he knew had supposedly killed himself.
There was no fucking way.
"I'm on the way," Sam said before slamming the phone down. It was obvious to him that the people in the hospital were idiots. He found himself somewhat calmer now that he'd realized they had the wrong person. He wasn't sure how they'd gotten his phone number, but there was no way the corpse they had was Dean.
Standing in the waiting area not sure what the holdup was, Sam's mind was going over all the thoughts that had been swirling around in his brain on the way there. The bus ride from Stanford had given him plenty of time to wander down memory lane. Thoughts of better times for the brothers Winchester filled his head making him smile and nauseous alternatively. Whatever guilt that had been building over the way he'd parted from his brother had only increased in the hours since he'd talked to the voice.
He wasn't really sure what would happen once he found his brother, and Sam was sure he was alive and kicking somewhere in this waste of a hospital. He knew though that things would be changing again. He didn't want things to return to the way they'd been. While he wasn't ready to give up his dreams of normal, he wasn't willing to suffer through this separation from Dean any longer.
"Mr. Winchester?" He heard a voice call and looking up found himself looking into the eyes of men in suits. Definitely more lawyer and less doctor types. The anxiety Sam had been feeling increased again tenfold. Why would lawyers want to be talking to him?
"Where's my brother?" Sam asked straightening himself to his full height, eyes full of intense anger, fists clenched.
The lawyer types had the sense to look nervous.
By the time they were done, Sam figured they better feel more than nervous.
Standing out in front of the hospital, Sam wasn't sure if he felt more lost or angry. In one hand he held the necklace his brother had worn for more years than he could remember. In the other he held the keys to his brother's precious Impala. Both were items his brother would die before giving up.
He'd not wanted to believe it.
He'd argued, he'd shouted, he'd raged against men who were obviously more incompetent than trustworthy. They had no body to show him because they'd accidentally sent it to be cremated. All they had were items and a description. All of which SOUNDED like it was Dean.
But something in Sam refused to believe.
Maybe if they'd said he'd been in an accident, mauled by some strange animal, shot by a cop or anything but suicide Sam would be able to better accept their assurances that it had been his brother. The problem was Sam's mind couldn't wrap itself around the idea that his big brother had killed himself.
He didn't know where to go. He wasn't sure what to do. He'd started to call his father a dozen times only to hang up fearing the rift between them. Dean had always been the mediator, the cushion between the two opposing forces he and his father represented. Without him there as a buffer, Sam didn't know where to start.
Staring at his phone, Sam hesitantly dialed the only number he trusted. "Pastor Jim?"
~*~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~*~
Pulling up in front of Pastor Jim's church, Sam shut off the Impala's engine and leaned back to look at the big wooden doors, his brother's necklace hanging from the rearview mirror. He couldn't begin to determine how he felt, because his mind was still at war with the idea that Dean could be dead; and not just dead, but dead by his own hands. Letting his head fall back, Sam closed his eyes as his hands tightened around the steering wheel.
He could almost feel his brother, could almost hear his voice in his head. "Are you taking care of my baby, little brother? It's time to do some research geekboy, you think you can motivate yourself to help? Pastor Jim will have the answers, Sam. You can trust him. Don't listen to what dad says. They're just fighting again."
"Dean," Sam whispered, broken and anguished. But then he stopped himself. He refused to give in now. His brother had never given up on him in his life, never once turned his back and said you can't do it. Always supported and believed. Sam figured now it was his turn to believe, and he wouldn't let Dean down now.
He had no idea where his brother was, but there was no way he'd killed himself.
Taking a deep breath, Sam lifted his head and opened his eyes to see two men standing in the open church doorway. One was expected, the sight of Pastor Jim was almost a balm to Sam's frayed emotions. Growing up, the church had been one of Sam's favorite places to come. He found the quietness soothing. Pastor Jim had always treated him as an equal part of the hunting world, not just the younger son of John Winchester who wasn't as apt as his brother.
The other was unexpected. Sam hadn't called Bobby Singer, but next to Jim there wasn't another whose advice he would rather have. Bobby's place had been another safe haven in their world as children and Bobby had all sorts of great books a mind like Sam's had enjoyed. Learning the things beyond how to kill the supernatural had always intrigued Sam.
Opening the door, Sam climbed out, his long legs aching and cramped from the hundreds of miles they'd been bunched up in the car. Stretching he then moved forward to meet the men half way, Jim reaching him first. His arms, wrapping around him, giving Sam a comfort he hadn't realized he was waiting for. "I'm so sorry, Sam."
Pulling back forcefully, Sam shook his head, eyes hard and fists clenched ready to fight. "He's not dead. I don't give a shit what they say. I know my brother."
"Sam," he heard and the pity in the tone was unmistakable. As if the person behind the voice thought he knew things Sam didn't. Looking to Bobby, the pity in his voice was easily seen in his eyes. Sam found himself hardening that much further, shields going up, defenses fortifying against the upcoming attack. "You didn't see him the last couple months, Sam. He'd changed."
Sam heard the ferial growl and didn't recognize it as his own until he saw Bobby's eyes widen and a flicker of something close to fear pass through them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but shrugged it off as he turned his eyes back to Jim. The sight of matching pity there was almost enough to make him start swinging.
"It wasn't your fault, Sam, but he was depressed. He'd met a girl and it didn't go well. You were gone…"
"Dean would NOT HAVE KILLED HIMSELF!" Sam shouted fists lifting not quite ready to swing simply out of respect for the men in front of him, but ready to take action nonetheless. "And any of you bastards who think he could obviously don't know him very well!"
"I'd say it's you who don't know him, Sam," He heard a gravelly voice say and looking beyond Bobby saw his father coming down the steps. His eyes were red and filled with hatred. Caleb was chasing him down the steps trying to get John back into the church. Sam knew though once he'd set his mind to something his father wouldn't be dissuaded. "This is your fault."
Spreading his legs, Sam prepared, this time his body as well as his mind, for what was to come. "You killed my son." His father growled stopping close enough to Sam that he could smell the whiskey on his breath. "You selfish little bitch, you killed my son."
"I didn't," Sam argued jaw once more clenched, eyes filling with tears he refused to shed. His conviction and will hidden behind iron clad walls. "I didn't because he isn't dead. Dean wouldn't have done that."
"HE DID! HE DID BECAUSE OF YOU, SAM! HE DID BECAUSE HE LOVED YOU! HE DID BECAUSE YOU SEDUCED HIM AND THEN YOU ABAODONED HIM! HE DID AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU KILLED MY SON!" John raged fist rising and connecting with Sam's jaw sending him to the ground. "YOU KILLED MY SON!"
Inside Sam something broke. Some final tiny thread of some hope he'd been holding onto that connected him to his father. Some remnant of need he knew Dean had for the two of them to be able to cohabitate. That thread though had only survived because of Dean's will and intervention. Without him there to protect it, it was severed by the razor sharp anger that always seemed to exist between Sam and his father.
"John, Sam is your son, too," Jim pleaded trying to make one last ditch effort to save this family.
"Not anymore," John spat turning back allowing Caleb to draw him back up the stairs. "I had only one son and he killed himself because of some spoiled demon's spawn."
Trying to clear his throat of the lump lodged there, Sam wiped his face of tears he refused to acknowledge, watching the man he'd call father no more ascend the stairs and head back into the church.
"Sam, he doesn't mean it. He's just upset. Once he cools down…"
"Once he cools down, he'll go back to hunting and never think of me again. But, don't worry. When I find out where my brother is, I won't make Dean choose. Fortunately I'm not quite the bastard John Winchester thinks I am."
"Sam," he heard again and pushed himself up, growing tired of the sound of his name.
"NO!" Sam threw back at Bobby angrily. He knew the older man was only trying to help, but he refused to let the man's lack of faith sway him from his path. He knew he was right. He knew it and he wasn't going to let anyone convince him otherwise.
"You don't wanna believe in me, that's your loss. You wanna pity me and think 'Poor Sam's lost his mind' well you go right ahead. But trust in this. MY BROTHER IS NOT DEAD. Wherever he is he needs me and I will not let you people cloud things."
"Sam, I know it's hard," Bobby said hand held out, but Sam just slapped it away angrily and for the last time turned his attention to Pastor Jim.
"Do you think I'm nuts too?" Sam asked shoulders squared, legs spread as if he was expecting another attack.
Taking a deep breath Jim looked into Sam's eyes then back through the doors of the church where John had disappeared. Finally he turned his eyes back to Sam and smiled softly. "No, Sam. If you say Dean's alive then I will believe you. None of us has ever come close, not even your father, to sharing a bond with Dean you have. If you say he's alive, then he's alive."
Nodding Sam turned without speaking another word and climbed into the Impala heading off. Not once did he glance into the rearview mirror at the men he was leaving behind. Instead his fingers curled around the amulet, eyes trained forward always on the future instead of the past.
In the years to come, it would be a telling gesture on how he lived his life.
~*~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~*~
Four months later, his brother's trail cold and dead, Sam found himself back at the very hospital where his nightmare had started at. He'd gotten a strange call and had traced it back to this hospital. All he'd had was a voice mail message and a phone number on his caller id.
Come get me, Sam. These people are nuts!
A voice that haunted his dreams.
A voice attached to a man everyone but him believed dead.
So now he was making his way through the hallways. Looking in doorways, checking behind curtains drawn around beds, they'd tried to call security on him, but the word lawsuit had convinced the administrators to humor him.
He found him in the last place he'd ever think to look.
White shirt, blue pants, restraints circling his arms and hazel eyes so intense Sam would have known it was Dean even if that was all he could see.
He couldn't help it.
He'd spent the last four months cut off from his entire world, believing in a notion that even Jim had given up on. He'd lost his father, he'd given up on his dreams of college realizing two months back that even if he found Dean he wouldn't be able to return to Stanford. All for an idea that he had no real proof was possible except for a notion in his head, a belief that his brother would never leave him with such a burden.
Standing in the doorway of room 1505 in the Psych ward of Angels of Mercy Hospital, Sam cried.
"Dean," he finally pushed out before rushing to his brother's bed where he removed restraints. Hauling his startled brother into his arms, Sam let go and cried getting rid of everything he'd been holding in while fighting the world.
It wasn't until familiar arms wound around his shoulders pulling him down and whispering in his ear, "its ok, Sammy, I'm here," that he calmed.
"I knew, Dean, I knew," Sam whispered pulling back and looking into his brother's concerned eyes.
"Knew what, Sammy?" Dean asked frowning confused, not understanding why his brother was so emotional. After all, Dean was the one locked in the psych ward with some freak telling him he wasn't who he said he was.
Maybe it was his mental exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that Sam had never hidden anything from Dean, not even his application to Stanford. But, Sam found himself telling Dean about what had been going on. He started with his walk across campus and didn't stop until he'd reached the door to Dean's room.
"I know you love him, Dean. I'm not going to try and come between you two, but I can't man. I can't do that anymore. I can't go back. I can't do the 'see I was right so now we can just pretend that you didn't disown me' thing. But I'm not goin' back to school either."
"What do you wanna do then Sammy?" Dean asked quietly willingly engaging in a rare moment of emotional vulnerability.
"I wanna be with you, Dean," Sam whispered back. "I know we can't pretend I never left, and I don't want to. If I hadn't gone, I don't think I could appreciate what we have. Dean, you're my brother, you're my best friend, you're my confessor, and you're my biggest cheerleader. You're the one who always has faith in me."
"I don't know why dad thinks I seduced you, but… I suppose I should be upfront and say he wasn't far off there. I love you. I know it's fucked up and wrong and… whatever, but I don't care. I love you and I want to be with you. I want it to be us and nothing and no one else really matters."
Dean looked down to where his hand covered one of Sam's fists. He knew what this would mean. He'd be separated from his father forever. He couldn't ask Sam to swallow his pride and go back. Not when his father had disowned Sam for a second time and this time in front of their friends. Not when his father had so cruelly blamed him for what he believed to be his death.
As much as he wanted his family together, he wanted what Sam was offering more. He wanted it with his entire being. Wanted to be owned by Sam in a way he'd never been owned by anyone. Wanted to have that connection to Sam he'd never had with anyone.
He'd tried going the acceptable route. He'd tried getting the girl and falling in love and the whole nine yards, but it had been a complete failure. When the horrible nightmare had been finished, the only thing Dean had learned was that he'd never love anyone more than Sam.
Thinking that, Dean supposed that it really wasn't a hard decision to make. He could turn his back on Sam, on the one person who fought for him when the rest of the world had given up on him. He could have a half live with a bunch of people who would probably be willing to ignore his father's words or pretend it had just been the booze talking.
Or he could tell them to accept it or not, and live a full life with his brother AND lover doing what he loved with the man he loved.
Thinking about Sam's story of the last four months it was pretty obvious it hadn't been a hard decision for Sam as to which side to stand on.
And honestly, Dean figured, it wasn't really a hard decision for him either.
The End
